Protecting More Than Goals
by xo nic
Summary: Oliver Wood has always had one thing on his mind: Quidditch. However, when his Chaser, Katie Bell, is ambushed by a group of Slytherins he decides to watch over her. Under his protection, she teaches him that there is more to life than just Quidditch.
1. Prologue

_I started writing this story about two years ago and finally resurfaced this prologue the other day and decided that it was time to finally continue on with it as I had originally planned. The story idea came from Lanni at fictionalley, as well as many others that I may also write depending on how people react to this story :)._

**Prologue**

A dim light shone as a figure sat, hunched over a wooden desk. Natural stains and rings of the rich oak could be easily traced with a fingertip. Papers flew from in front of the huddled body; a quill sped across the parchment in a whirl. The point of the quill was occasionally dipped shallowly into inkwells of various colors. Lines, arrows, and crosses were scribbled onto the parchment, a mess of colors swept across, only causing the parchment to be crumpled and tossed over the crouched shoulders as the previous had.

As the night grew older, balls of paper lined the floor, starting with one layer, then two, and eventually rising to a meek five. Rays of sunlight revealed themselves from beyond half-closed, crimson curtains. Two arms stretched out from the huddled body as it straightened in its chair. Relaxation came over the bold muscles that protruded from the arms. A sigh of relief escaped a tired mouth as a mutter could be heard from across the room.

"These are perfect," Oliver Wood stood up from his seat, a glimmer in his eye and a grin in his heart. Dark circles lined around the bottoms of his eyes as he made the journey to his bulletin board on the opposing wall of his room, the desk still cluttered with parchment, ripped, torn, and crumpled.

The board was neatly organized, sectioned off into evenly measured boxes. To the right, were pictures and facts on various Quidditch players, all successful and determined in their sport, athletes who would give anything for a victory. On the left side, there were headings of scarlet and gold, constructed of the words, 'Gryffindor Quidditch Team.' In the upper corner, there was a roster holding the name of each team member and their positions: Katie Bell, Chaser, Angelina Johnson, Chaser, Alicia Spinnet, Chaser, Fred and George Weasley, Beaters, Harry Potter, Seeker, and lastly, Oliver Wood, Captain, Keeper. Alongside each person's name was a list of their strengths and weaknesses, such as Harry's inability to stay out of the Hospital Wing, or Katie, Angelina, and Alicia's teamwork.

Underneath the roster stood an empty, barren surface; Oliver picked up a thumbtack and pinned up the sheets of parchment he had just completed; the ink was still wet, but not so much that it ran down the page, creating streaks and smears along all the hard work and dedication that had gone into its contents.

Oliver took a step back and nodded his head in approval. The lines, arrows, and crosses mapped out a new training program he had spent his entire summer designing. He was going to be entering his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; it was also to be his third and final year as Quidditch Captain for his house. Gryffindor had not been triumphant in winning the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley had left the school. Ever since Oliver's fifth year, when he was named captain, he had been more determined than ever thought possible to win the cup for his house. He ate, drank, and breathed Quidditch; it became impossible for him to imagine life without it. When his team had failed to bring a victory back to their house the year before, he decided it was time for a new training program. They would work harder, longer, and he would not give up on them until they had nightmares of him drilling them at night. Passion burned deep within him for the game, and the fire was building as the time for school to begin again drew near.

Oliver's memory traveled back to the past couple of months. He had gone over millions of maneuvers, turns, angles to shoot at, until his heart had felt that he had compiled the greatest training program Hogwarts will have ever seen. A small, one-sided Quidditch pitch resided in his back yard, the most perfect birthday present his parents had ever treated him to. Three golden hoops would sparkle in the sunlight as he tore past them, diving and circling. His eyes blinked, causing him to return back to his bedroom. Giving a small sigh, his memories flooded back to him, reminding him of the happiness, the rush, that he had felt over the summer while creating a new workout for his team. Eyes wandering to see his bed, still neatly made with the scarlet comforter and deep, golden sheets, he stared at the trunk that rested at its foot.

It was his own personal treasure; he had received it as a gift for his last birthday. Inside was a Quaffle, the equivalent of glimmering rubies to Oliver, two Bludgers, coal in its roughest and most rigid form of Carbon awaiting the transformation to a diamond, and the Snitch, gold as pure as it could be. To Oliver, it was as if he had struck it rich.

A smile came upon his face and confidence was instilled in him. He knew that his team could bring home the Quidditch Cup this year. With all the hard work he had put in over the summer, they would catch his virus, his determination, and take the games with all seriousness, never giving in without a fight.

"Nothing," he whispered to himself quietly, his voice started to turn a bit hoarse, "nothing will get in the way of us winning this year."


	2. Chapter 1

I planned on writing this chapter and having it up last night, but then my laptop died on my and is refusing to restart, so he

_I planned on writing this chapter and having it up last night, but then my laptop died on my and is refusing to restart, so here it is. Thank you for all of your reviews, I'm so used to, you know, never getting any :D. I actually just dug out my notebook with a complete outline in it (wow I can't believe I ever made an outline for anything) and decided to revamp this story from what I originally intended it to be two years ago. This new direction is much better, trust me, and makes much more sense seeing as most of the events are meant to occur before the first Quidditch match, my outline took this beyond the second and would have ended somewhere completely random and lacking in sense for this story. Anyways, on to the chapter._

**Chapter 1: **

"Oliver," a soft, melodious voice slurred to Oliver's sleep-ridden ears. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and shook subtly, the voice repeating his name continuously, getting clearer each moment.

"Fred, watch where you're aiming that bludger," Oliver mumbled as he rolled over in his bed, his legs getting entangled in his sheets, "This is my last chance to win the cup!" The hand still rested on his shoulder as the voice grew in volume, the distress upon his body increasing in both speed and intensity.

"Oliver Wood, you wake up this minute," the voice grew stern, achieving a half octave lower pitch than normal. The hand was removed from Oliver's shoulder as he struggled against the fabric wrapping his legs to maneuver his listless body from resting on his side to his stomach. He groaned as his legs were not completely free to move and a soft whisper of 'Wingardium Leviosa' could be heard along with the subtle 'swish' and 'flick' of a cedar wand. Swiftly the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain was hovering above his mattress. The golden sheets that were tangled around his legs daintily slid from his legs to the mattress as the mutter of another incantation allowed them to spread themselves across the surface, smooth and even, as if the bed had never been touched.

Making another effort to turn around in his sleep, Oliver screamed in a fury, "Weasly!" His eyes shot open within a fraction of a second, taking a moment to scan over his surroundings, he realized that he was not on the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, but rather inside his own Scottish bedroom.

With a slight turn of his head to the left he noticed his mother standing with her wand outstretched in his direction, her left hand resting impatiently on her hip, and her lips drawn into a straight line as she lifted her eyebrows at her son, questioning, "Do you suppose it's about time for you to wake-up? You wouldn't like to be late for your first day of your final year at Hogwarts now would you?"

"Mum," Oliver grumbled, rubbing his eyes and staring confused at the space between him and his bed, "Do you think you could put me down?"

"Only if you promise to get out of bed, grab your trunk, and head downstairs so you can get ready to return to school."

He looked at her with agreement in his dark chestnut eyes. Analyzing his glaze for a moment, she determined that he would keep his word and moved her wand, allowing her son to fall the foot and half distance from his position in the air to his mattress. The impact, although soft and small, startled Oliver, removing all desire to sleep and forcing him out of bed. "Thank you mum," he muttered as she waltzed out of his room contentedly and headed down the stairs to finish making breakfast.

Oliver rolled out of bed, his feet landing shakily on the ground, got dressed in his robes, and began to make his bed. "Two weeks and I could be doing this with magic."

Nodding in approval at the mildly lumpy comforter covering his mattress, Oliver grabbed his brown, well-used trunk and started heaving it out of his doorway and towards the stairwell. With a burly build it was still a difficult task for him to grab his trunk, three times his width, and carry it with ease out of the skinny doorframe. Making his way in front of the trunk, he grabbed a handle and slowly, and loudly dragged the trunk down the wooden stairs, a strident thump resonating through the quaint house.

"Oh ho my boy, are you ready for the final year? That Quidditch Cup will be Gryffindor's this year, I know it," Oliver's dad remarked, cheer and confidence in his deep, joyous voice.

"I sure hope so," Oliver sighed, sitting down across from his father at the table, grabbing the Quidditch features in the Daily Prophet thankfully. Mrs. Wood finished making breakfast and placed a plate in front of both the men, sitting between them with one of her own. Oliver began to fork at his eggs, taking a small heap and placing it in his mouth while continuing to read the Prophet. Coming across an article on Puddlemere United he choked, eyes turning red and watering. His father laughed silently to himself, shaking the table just a bit, knowing what had caught his son's attention.

"What is it?" Oliver's mother questioned, leaning towards her son, trying to see the article he was reading.

"Puddlemere's Keeper is leaving within the next year," Oliver coughed in an attempt to dislodge the eggs from his throat, his words coming out in more of a croak than his typical smooth Scottish accent. "They're going to be using their reserve once he leaves, which means they'll need to start scouting for a new Reserve Keeper." Excitement consumed his voice as his food slid down his throat.

"I'm sure they'll look at Hogwarts my boy," his father assured optimistically, "There's no better Keeper than you, you've got a mighty fine chance." He nodded and looked to his wife for reassurance. "Except," he trailed, "You may have to take a few precautions with that Potter kid of yours."

"What's wrong with Harry? And how will he keep from Puddlemere scouting at Hogwarts?"

"Well nothing's wrong with that Potter chap," Mr. Wood looked weary and glanced at his son from over the metal rim of his glasses, and continued, handing Oliver the front page of the Prophet. "It's just that Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. He worked for You-Know-Who and is bound to be after Harry."

Oliver's face dropped, all signs of excitement that were once present now completely vanished. "Great, this means Potter's head won't be in every game as much as I need it to be."

"Oliver, you need to care more for his safety than whether he's completely focused on the Snitch or not," his mother interjected, her eyebrows furrowing.

"I know mum, but we're still going to need him at his best," he sighed, "I guess I'll just have to keep an extra keen eye on him this year."

Chatter of Harry and whether his safety or Quidditch mindset was most important continued between Oliver and his mum, as Mr. Wood continued to try and lift the spirits with the Puddlemere news, or else excitement towards Oliver's upcoming birthday.

Breakfast ended on a quiet but content note, as Oliver prepared for his return to Hogwarts filled with excitement, anticipation, and daydreams of finally winning the Quidditch Cup.


	3. Chapter 2

_All right, so I'm terrible and haven't updated this story in over a year, but I promise I did not forget about it! I did lose my first couple of chapters off my computer a couple of times with it dying on me every now and then, but I did come back to get myself back into the swing of things and hopefully, since I am seriously lacking in fiction classes this semester (not a one, poetry instead, yikes!), this story WILL be updated much more often. As quickly as I can, actually. But it was when I came on here that I realized people were still reading it and reviewing it so I knew I absolutely had to continue (I couldn't let myself abandon it anyway). Hopefully the updates will come much more often. I'm aiming for about one every week or two, but I do have a lot of projects coming up that take a lot of time. I am a huge procrastinator with school-work though which means I'll probably get a lot of work done on this in that time! _

_I will get around to commenting on each review within the next couple of days as a thank you to everyone for being so astoundingly amazing. Thanks for reading! And now, on to chapter 2…_

_Disclaimer: Thank you to JK Rowling for creating these characters and this world which she is unknowingly letting me borrow for this story :))._

**Chapter 2**

King's Cross Station was, as Oliver had been told by his muggle-born chaser Katie Bell, often filled with a great hustle and bustle of muggles all running around trying to get from one place to another in a rush that would often make one think they were trying to outrun an exceptionally angry, or hungry, dragon, so one could only imagine the absolute insanity that would take place when all the Hogwarts students appeared to make it onto the train before the 11am sharp departing time. Oliver's coffee tinted eyes scanned the interior of the building as he took in the crowds of muggles lining up to look at the oversized black board in the middle of the station's entrance, fierce yellow letters spelling out destinations and times, informing the nervously impatient individuals composing the crowd whether their trains would be arriving or departing in a precise manner, on time as expected, or irresponsibly late.

"Ho Oliver!" his father exclaimed heading over to him whilst pushing a cart on which to load his possessions. "It was just about time I found one, was getting a tad worried there that we'd just have to run all your stuff onto the platform ourselves."

Oliver grabbed his trunk and lightly heaved, it directly upon the metallic surface of the pushcart, the rest of his possessions to follow on top of it. When everything was placed upon it, Oliver looked at his father, who more than knew that his son could manage to get on the platform on his own, it was after all his final year that he was about to commence.

"Now make sure you write your mum and I, keep me informed about how the team's progressing," his father stood shakily on his heels, both his hands in his back pockets as he continued, "I want to know the forecast of Gryffindor's chances for that cup this year my boy."

"Don't worry, dad, I will," Oliver responded as his father barely heard, beginning to speak again in a fanatical hurry.

"And you may want to send your mum some information about, oh you know, classes and all that, you and I both know that she would care much more for that type of stuff."

Mr. Wood bid farewell to his son and apparated back to his Scottish household. Oliver on the other hand made his way towards platforms nine and ten. Having made sure no muggles were watching, he ran through the solid brick barrier between the two platforms and found himself amongst a crowd of wizard families. The first and second years were all with their parents, exhilaration almost violently sweeping over them as the children could not await their beginning training in magic and parents were torn with absolute pride in their young children as well as weariness to watch them go off on their own. Oliver stepped onto the train and made his way into one of the compartments, sitting down with the parchment and quill he undoubtedly placed in his pocket so he would have the opportunity to draw up more rigorous and inventive Quidditch plays and drills on the ride to Hogwarts. He had just barely sat down with the small pieces of parchment when—

"Wood!" Oliver heard is name in two different pitches in voice as the compartment door was clumsily thrust open. One was a bit more of a playful tenor which one would almost be able to mistake as innocent had they not been able to catch the layer of mischief and deviousness underlying it, and the other was bit deeper laced with the same under-workings as its counterpart. The same tone, and almost wiry sound of his name—no one other than the Weasley twins ever used that tone with his name. His teammates more often had a hint of a groan, and by hint he knew it was basically a full out groan with his name hiding within it, or with a bite of anger. He didn't care though, he was going to push them to win knowing full well that they would have no problem gladly reaping the benefits of all the hard work he expected them to put into the coming Quidditch season. Oliver's mind was wrapped around more ideas for drills as he didn't notice Fred and George were suddenly sitting across from him. He heard faint muttering and was not broken from his Quidditch daze until he heard an abruptly shrill whizzing sound. He looked at the wide grins growing out of sly smirks on the faces of the two red-heads sitting across from him and darted his eyes to look at his shoulder to see a Zonko's Whizzing Worm resting on it.

"Let me guess," Fred started , eyeing Oliver knowingly as he took the worm back and put it away in his pocket, the whizzing noise had stopped.

"Quidditch," he and George stated simultaneously in a matter-of-fact manner.

"That cup is ours this year guys," Oliver affirmed with the utmost of confidence, his heart began to pump just a little bit harder as he grew more excited about being able to share what he had come up with with a couple of his teammates, even if they were the least serious of them all. "I came up with this whole new strategy, all these new drills, plays, I'm talking more practices as well as harder, longer…"

"Woah woah woah Wood, let's just hold it right there," Fred thrust his hand out, pumping it a couple of times in order to express his extreme desire for Oliver to stop talking. "New plays I can deal with, but when you start throwing words out there like harder and longer, I just can't allow you to keep speaking like that when you've apparently gone bonkers!"

"We like to fool with people more than anyone," George added, "but we would never subject them to words like 'harder' and 'longer' when it comes to your brutal Quidditch practices. Next thing we know you were going to keep babbling on with phrases along the lines of 'more often,' and no, no, no, we all know that is a terrible joke"

"Well actually…" Oliver started, his dark eyes again beginning to brim with excitement, the spark reappearing in them.

"Wood!" the twins yelled at him this time, their voices amplified by the mere fact that there was more than just one of them at a time.

"Well fine then," Oliver gave in, knowing full well that had he continued at the moment, he'd be more than a constant target for the twins all year—he knew his beaters well enough to know that he did not want that.

"Hey Wood," George started, glancing sideways at his brother, the side of his mouth twitching upward just a bit.

"Do you ever think of anything other than Quidditch?" Fred continued., the same twitch starting on the opposite end of his mouth.

"I mean, we've known you for how long," George went on.

"And all we've ever heard you talk about was the bloody sport," Oliver began to clench his fist at the term Fred had used to describe Quidditch.

"There has to be more in that broad head of yours than just Quidditch mate," George egged on.

"Normally after the season ends I focus on what to do for the next season," Oliver started, a bit of confusion furrowing in his brow about what he would have to busy himself with after the Quidditch finals, and then he remembered, "Puddlemere is looking for a new reserve keeper!" Fred and George rolled their eyes at him, "I'll have that to keep focused on."

"Oliver, do you ever think of say girls?" Fred started, "Or, oh George I can't even believe I'm going to say this, classes?"

"Oh brother that sounded right awful coming out of your mouth," George winked at Fred before he continued, an obviously knowing sign that served as a prelude to the question about to escape from his mouth, but Oliver did not notice it as he looked down as his barely started drawings on his parchment, "What say you of Bell, Wood?" His eyebrows lifted a bit in the direction of his captain, but yet again, Oliver did not notice as he pulled his head up to look questioningly at the twins.

"Why Bell's a great keeper," Oliver responded, not understanding the tone that in itself almost made George's question an innuendo.

"Not in Quidditch terms," Fred groaned at him just a bit, not wrapping his head around Oliver's inability to understand the way George had asked the question. He himself had to stifle his laughter when the question came out of his brother's mouth. It just had that much of a sensual undertone to it.

"What do you mean then?" Oliver questioned.

"All I'm going to say," Fred started, "Is that if I didn't fancy someone else myself, I'd probably try and snatch Bell before anyone else could."

"Like she'd want you brother," George playfully insulted, "She'd know better to go for the more handsome, charming, and…funny, brother."

"Which is why it would be me then," Fred smirked and turned his glance back to Oliver, "You really need to expand your mind beyond Quidditch mate. It can't be healthy for you."

"We're just trying to look out for you Wood," George noted, "We should probably go check up on Lee, we left him in a compartment with the girls."

"You know, he's probably enjoying it," Fred added.

"Very right indeed Fred. We'll just find him when we get to Hogwarts," George responded before he and Fred unwillingly gave in to Oliver's desire to draw out more plays and drills. The two of them feigned listening to his explanations and outbursts of excitement after he would finish one, focusing more so on their current products and jokes that they had in progress, occasionally throwing something new at Oliver to make him jump or yelp for the remainder of the train ride, laughing hysterically every time he'd do so.

* * *

_I tried to make it a bit longer than the last two since I've sucked and haven't updated in a year and a half or so!!! I promise I will update soon this time, and will get around to responding to all my wonderful reviews so far! And I know it's been heavily Oliver so far, but I can also promise that Katie will be appearing in the next chapter, rather than just mentioned!!_

_I hope you all are still enjoying this! You are the most amazing readers ever! :))  
_


	4. Chapter 3

_**Let's discuss how much of an epic fail I have turned into with updating, although I'm pretty sure absolutely everyone is already well aware of that. I know I intended on adding more chapters to this MONTHS ago, but alas everything hits at once (including my computer keyboard breaking—months of writing stories and essays without the use of an "o" "l" or "." for that matter unless they were copied and pasted, not easy). So here I am finally with a longer, hopefully more interesting, installment of this story.**_

_**I apologize for my epic level of failure in updating. I do not deserve you guys! And alas…**_

_**We all know who owns all of these wonderful characters :)).**_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"DAWN?" six angry voices yelled in a permutation of emergent irritation and alarm.

Oliver Wood looked at the horrific expressions mounting across the faces of his Quidditch Team. The Weasley twins had somehow managed to get their usually fair skin to match the rusty shade of their hair, all three of his Chasers clenched their fists and appeared on edge as if they were contemplating pouncing on him—ravenous, animalistic predators, starved and ready to shred his rough hide to devour their pray—and Potter…well, Potter looked as if he were about to faint. For a boy who had faced He Who Must Not Be Named and been rumored to go through some dangerous stunts his first two years at Hogwarts, one would have believed that waking up just a tad bit earlier than normal wouldn't have much of an effect over him. Apparently, however, that was a misconstrued notion; the reactions from the twins and the Chasers on the other hand, absolutely predictable.

"Aye, dawn," Oliver reiterated with an abrasive authority, his Scottish accent thickening as his tone became brash and demanding, "Every morning before classes."

Groans were reflexively emitted from his team, huddled in a corner of the Gryffindor Common room, each member individually awaiting their opportunity to finally disband from Wood's mandatory meeting regarding practice schedules and plans for the year that had just fallen upon them and the chance to finally spend some time catching up with their other friends before classes began the following morning.

"I expect you lot to practice every other evening as well," Wood looked directly at Fred and George before continuing, only to be interrupted.

"Won't there be _other_ teams needing to use the pitch sometime during the week Wood?" Katie Bell pointedly asked him, "You know, the teams we'll be _playing_. We aren't going to just be showing off our refined skills to the whole school instead of taking part in matches you know." Sarcasm seeped through her tone, sticky, as she mentioned their 'refined skills,' attacking Wood's intense training program he had just previously detailed to them before they got on the topic of practice schedules.

"I've already discussed everything with McGonagall, she approved the timetable," _although quite diffidently_ he recalled to himself, "Everything is already settled with the other Professors and their respective teams."

"Of course, no one else is bonkers enough to practice Quidditch at _dawn_," George murmured quite loudly, allowing the notion that he had intended for Wood to hear his comment.

"We _have_ to win the Cup this year," Oliver's eyes hardened as they glared upon his team. "We've got the best bloody Seeker in the school, the speediest and most in tune to one another group of Chasers, and what may be quite likely to most utterly insane pair of Beaters that Hogwarts has seen in a long while," the Weasley twins gave one another a look of approval and placed smug smirks on their freckled faces. "Gryffindor has seen what is probably the most talent pass through its Quidditch ranks and every year we get the shaft, coming up short because some other team is full of bloody tossers who try and charm Bludgers to come straight at our heads without any daft Beaters even touching the thing. This is our year, we must do everything we can to win the Quidditch Cup and bring it back where it belongs once and for all."

Wood had hoped that his speech would have in some way ignited his team to approach the coming Quidditch season with at least a fraction of the passion he had, yet all he received were looks of increasing boredom and the twins poking annoyingly at one another.

"You know, you lot can at least make the effort to show some enthusiasm toward winning sometimes," he sighed. "Go off with your friends, I'll see you all down at the Quidditch pitch first thing tomorrow morning," he indolently retreated from the group to let them return to their dormitories.

"TOMORROW!" All right, so they really did not understand the urgency and the serious aspect as to how important this year was going to be.

"Yes tomorrow," Wood stipulated, "Anyone who shows up late is going to have to stay later and do more drills, do not test me."

The entire team knew he was serious, and went off commenting under their breaths about how their Captain had lost his mind, holding practice in what could practically be considered the middle of the night.

Oliver kept his back to the staircases that ascended to the dormitories, waiting a minute to contemplate how he would ever be able to convince his team of the magnitude of this season. Not only would it be a triumphant victory long awaited by the Gryffindor house for years, but it had to be his chance to make a mark, to show to scouts that would be at the games and to his father that he possessed the will, the leadership, and what he hoped was the skill to make it as a professional Quidditch player.

"Wood," a nimble, raspy voice addressed him, throwing him from his train of thought for a moment. Katie Bell stood at the foot of the staircase that led to what he had once heard her call her 'safe haven from his [Oliver's] Quidditch insanity.' "You know," she started again "we really _do _care. We may not be as intense as you, but all of us want nothing more than to bring home the cup this year. Except…maybe not Harry, you know, that whole Sirius Black on the loose thing," she shrugged.

But Oliver did not catch on to the fact that she was trying to insinuate the fact that, to his Seeker, keeping safe from an escaped Azkaban prisoner on the loose might be more imperative than Quidditch; however, he did nothing more than nod at her as she scaled the staircase to her room.

* * *

"WOOD! IT'S HARDLY PAST SIX IN THE MORNING, WHY ARE YOU MAKING US RUN FOR A SPORT THAT REQUIRES ON TO PLAY ON BROOMS?"

Ahh, the shrieking voice of Angelina Johnson in the morning, just what every Quidditch Captain needs to hear to know his team will finally gain the respect that he needs from them in order for them to build good team character, chemistry, and succeed. Oliver's face was nothing less than business: his mouth straight across his chiseled jaw in an authoritative scowl, his eyes the shade of an espresso bean, emanating looks that were just as bitter as the bean itself possessed. His arms were crossed over his chest and his shoulders were square to the pitch, watching his team sprint back and forth in alternating lengths from one side of the field to the next.

"You know," Alicia shouted, "I hear muggles in the States they call these _suicides_. Are you trying to kill us Oliver?" Her voice faded with her question as her breaths began to shorten and she pushed her legs harder off the ground to gain speed in her sprints, she had told Oliver the evening before that the team was serious about winning this year, and now she, almost regretfully, had to prove it.

"Oi! I think I'm going to be sick," Angelina whined again as she passed by Wood.

"You'll be fine Johnson," he retorted, complete confidence in his voice. This was not the first year she would be trying to ease up her efforts in practice. "Keep running."

Six players continued to race the length of the Quidditch grounds until a bellowing Scottish drawl demanded they move on to their next drill: running across the pitch at albeit a slower speed, but picking their legs up enough until their feet would make contact with their lower halves.

"Oi George, this is not right, we're kicking ourselves in the arse!" Fred looked at his twin with confusion and revenge in his eyes.

"I think tonight we'll be kicking Wood in the arse," George countered and met his twin's eyes. The scheming going on between them was almost visible.

"I heard that you two," Wood called, remaining stationary in his Captain stance, ignoring the itch in his legs to go out and join his team—he would condition on his own later, for now, someone had to keep an eye on this lot. "And no George, no one will be kicking me in the arse at any time." Wood could have sworn he heard one of his players mutter the words 'we'll see,' but he shook it off and focused on his youngest player. "No slacking off here Harry, pick up the pace."

"I still don't understand _why we're running Wood,_" Harry intoned.

"A good athlete is well conditioned. Better speed on foot will help with your ability to kick off on your brooms. It will make you more agile—you will move quicker and your reflexes and awareness of the game will be heightened and vastly improved. Being in better shape will help you be a better player…"

"Oi! Shut it," Katie spoke up again, "We get it Oliver—you've been watching far too much football on the Muggle stations this year."

Oliver proceeded to watch his team run drills on the grounds of the pitch, forcing them to duck, dodge, zig zag, and basically maneuver in any other way imaginable before finally ordering them to mount their brooms and take to the air.

"All right," he roared (after all, he IS a Gryffindor), "I hope you three have started studying those parchments I gave you last night with the various new plays on them, we're going to start with the Blundering Badger play—now the intent of this play is to make it look as if you've made a mistake, Spinnet, you start with the Quaffle; Johnson, drop below her, when she and Bell make their 'gaffe' I want you to take Quaffle to the closest hoop and score. It should be quick, the other team's Keeper should be thinking the Quaffle is either headed towards the ground of the pitch or still with either Spinnet or Bell here. We're going to switch off positions with this until each one of you has every role perfected."

"All right, oh mighty Captain," Angelina sarcasm was lost on Oliver as she got in her place for the drill before they could start it, "But what about Bludgers during the actual match?"

"That's why Weasley and Weasley are here," Oliver responded.

"At your service, sir!" the twins saluted their Captain.

"Work on your aim you two, send the Bludgers in the direction of the girls but you prats better not hit any of them or so help you I'm going to have to find more than just a new Chaser or two for this team." Oliver turned his attention for a minute before setting everything into action, "Potter! I want you to release and catch that Snitch at least a hundred times before we finish going over this drill."

Harry showed the slightest hint of a grimace but nodded and went off to do as he was told, hoping her could keep sight of that blasted Snitch well enough in the phantom, overcast sky to actually catch it a hundred times.

Though with Wood, perfection was never achieved—even if he did have the best bloody lot of players in the school.

"Oliver!" Katie cried out perhaps a bit desperately after she, Alicia, and Angelina had successfully put the Quaffle by him at least fifty times each, "We've got classes you know! And breakfast, it would be nice to actually eat something at some point in the day now that you've worn us all out."

Oliver hesitated for a moment, but he knew that his bright little Chaser was right, and motioned for everyone to head to the locker rooms and get cleaned up before heading down to grab a bit of nourishment before the long day of classes.

"Back here tomorrow morning and after dinner you lot."

* * *

"Mr. Wood," the censorious and lofty voice of Professor McGonagall snapped impatiently. Oliver could see her black robe curved around the foot of his desk, her tone insinuating that she had called him to attention more than once before finally receiving a response. He jerked his head from his parchment—on which he had been scribbling more carefully plotted 'x's and 'o's. "It is imperative that you focus on today's lesson Mr. Wood, you wouldn't like to fall behind after one day of class now would you?"

"No Professor," his voice came out as more of a grumble as he looked at her and sent a small smirk her direction—his way of asking forgiveness. She, however, was not amused. _It's bound to work one day_, Wood mused.

"The lesson Wood, before I let Mr. Weasley here use you as a test subject to demonstrate the spell for the class." Oliver looked to his right at Percy Weasley whose expression was smug and screaming 'I'm better and more brilliant than you in every way,' _pompous prat_.

Wood looked at the board in front of the class and began swiftly scribbling down the notes McGonagall had set for them, she gave a pleased sound before moving away from his desk and continuing with her lesson.

A piece of torn parchment made its way under Oliver's right hand, from Percy, no doubt:

'_Get focused Wood, that silly game won't help you pass your classes this term_.'

* * *

_**All right so not as long as I had initially intended it to be, and I apologize for how slow this story seems to be progressing but I did finally find my initial outline for it! The next chapter is actually supposed to be from/focus on more of a Slytherin perspective in their plotting of the ambush, so hopefully that turns out all right.**_

_**Any recommendations of what you guys would like to see happen in this story? Any input would be greatly appreciated and I can say that I will definitely try to fit anything you like to see in here somewhere :)).**_


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